I NEED HELP A.S.A.P CONCERNING THE SCHOOL SYSTEM IN CARUTHERSVILLE MO. MY 11 YEAR OLD SON WAS ASSAULTED ON THE BUS, BROUGHT HOME BY AN OFFICER, AND NOT HEARD BY THE BOARD. AFTER THREATENING TO CONTACT YOU MY SON WAS REINSTATED TO GET BACK ON THE BUS ONLY AFTER I RECIEVED SOME PAPER WORK PROVING THEIR FLAWS PLEASEE CONTACT ME AT 573-333-1036 I REFUSE TO ACCEPT HOW THEY MISTREATED MY SON

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The Zodiac Killer

This case was never solved and authorities have gone back and forth with their theories, yet caught the suspect. Meanwhile I had to live with him.

In 1970, at the age of 17, I was sent from my hometown of Terry, Mississippi to live with my uncle in San Francisco. When I arrived we lived in a house on Portola, at the foot of Mount St. Davidson. The people we lived with were very nice people who worked at the hospital. But when a black man moved in,it didn't take Uncle Bubba long to move us to a more private location in San Bruno, California.

My uncle was the chief engineer at San Francisco State. He had been in the merchant marines. I suppose he may have wanted to be a cop, but he had shot his own middle right toe off in a hunting accident when he was younger. He was good with cars though and was an expert auto mechanic.

One Saturday in San Bruno after working on a tan Chevy all day, he came in washed his hands and I noticed that his fingernails were perfectly clean. I asked him about it and he told me that he used airplane glue on his fingertips to keep his fingernails clean.

He had a gun he said was a Saturday Night Police Special. It was small, weighed about 11 ounces and had a black barrel with a short nose and a red handle. There was residue of white adhesive tape on the barrel. and no site. I asked him how he could aim with no site. He said he taped a penlight flashlight on the top of the barrel and it worked great. I asked him how he could see it in the day time and he answered that he did his best hunting at night.

Then he placed the gun in my hand and asked me if I wanted to go hunting with him. I was so afraid of guns that I nearly dropped the gun and replied that I was too afraid of guns to go.

He got me drunk that night and raped me. I was still a virgin. He got away with it because he told me our cousin, who had been a police officer, had said that if a man pulls out before ejaculation that no cop would believe the victim if she said she'd been raped. I was a virgin with a very long vagina and he was so short that he my hymen was not broken. I felt i would not be believed if I went to the police about the rape.

The next day I visited my friends who lived in the house on Portola and stayed there the weekend, in July of 1970. While I was there I had sex with a man who lived there and he managed to break my hymen. I bled heavily.

That night we both heard digging in the back yard. THe next day I climbed the small mountain in the backyard that led to the cross on the top. After looking around the top I descended Mount St. Davidson. On the way back down I noticed a patch of fine red grass, or so I thought, growing out of the side of the hill. It was so unusual that I reached down and ran my hands through it. I jumped up in fright when I realized it was not grass, but hair. I ran back to the house and told my friends. I was afraid that it was a body buried there and wanted to call the police. I felt strongly Uncle Bubba may have had something to do with that body being there. I was afraid if I told the police and they did not act, I would be left with Uncle Bubba who may do more than he already had with me. I was so afraid and did not want to go back to San Bruno.

On Sunday evening, Uncle Bubba showed up. We had all had a very pleasant day at Stinson Beach and were settled down in the living room talking and laughing when he came to the door. He was let in and after exchanging pleasantries with his former roommates, he told me we had to go now.

I was too afraid and told him I was going to stay another night, but he insisted I come home with him. I called him a "mother f_____" and he slapped me across the room in front of everyone.

I ran to the bedroom and hid in the closet. He waited five minutes and came in and grabbed my wrists together and used them to drag me through the house and throw me into his waiting, small, blue camper truck, then drove me back to San Bruno.

He told me that he slapped me because I called him a MF and that was too close to incest and he didn't want those people starting to think anything along those lines was going on. He said the things he did for pleasure, society wouldn't understand, but that he was quiet about what he did and looked like such an average bloke that he could easily get lost in a crowd. He said because he put up such a good front to  John Q. Public they would never guess what he did when he was "doing his thing". That's why he hit me, because I made a comment that might have led his friends to think ill of him and suspect what he was up to in secret.

So I was afraid. I had already guessed that I better play stupid because a confrontation with him may end disastrously for me.

                                  (more to come or if you can't wait, check out my website)